


gonna make you howl tonight

by ang3lba3, Mellomailbox



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Immortality, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-15
Updated: 2020-07-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:01:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25276579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ang3lba3/pseuds/ang3lba3, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mellomailbox/pseuds/Mellomailbox
Summary: Zuko's sunlight allergy keeps him from getting a job during normal hours. Thankfully, one of Uncle Iroh's friends needs a housekeeper. And someone to follow around the house and harass for his own entertainment.Thirty dollars an hour,Zuko thinks, grits his teeth, and gets through it.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 432





	gonna make you howl tonight

“I think my allergies are acting up,” Sokka complains. He’s spread out over the sofa in the most uncomfortable position Zuko’s ever seen. His head is nearly touching the floor, spine bent backwards over the arm, feet planted on the cushions.

“Do you have one of those sticky roller things for your clothes? I can get you one if you don’t.” 

“Have you tried Claritin.” Zuko asks, flatly. 

He’s not covered in dog hair. He’s _never_ covered in dog hair. His boss is just an asshole who thinks he’s _funny._

Sokka waves his hand absently in the air, physically brushing off Zuko’s suggestion. “Nah. Drugs don’t do it for me.”

 _Thirty dollars an hour,_ Zuko chants to himself, fervently. He adjusts his grip on the sponge, attacks the black stain on the tile again. In the two weeks he’s worked here, he’s gotten rid of most of the obvious filth. The place is practically sparkling, undefeatable black stains aside. But Sokka had hired him for 40 hours a week, and Zuko was going to find 40 hours a week of work in this place. _Thirty dollars an hour._

“Have you tried not breathing,” Zuko mutters, low enough that he’s sure Sokka can’t hear him over the drag of the brush. 

Sokka barks a laugh, harsh and loud. “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that!” he says, slapping his leg. He sits upright, smiling at Zuko. “Thanks!”

Zuko stares at him. Sokka, very pointedly, does not breathe. 

Zuko sucks in a deep breath of his own, _thirty dollars an hour,_ and turns back to his scrubbing.

“What’re you gonna do when you’re done with that?” Sokka asks curiously. Obviously he started breathing again, or he wouldn’t be talking. “My house is perfect now. Oh!” He snaps his fingers, and before Zuko can answer the first question he asks, “how are you with clothes?” 

“I’ve worn some all my life,” Zuko says, which is the exact kind of true statement that got him this job. _How are you at cleaning? I’ve needed clean things my entire life, sir._

Sokka grins again, sharp toothed and genuine. “How about washing them? My sister tells me that I should send them to a cleaners ‘cause they’re antiques, but it’s so much work to go outside when I can just have someone come here.” 

“I could take them to the cleaners for you?” Zuko suggests. The stain _won’t_ come out. He’s tried everything, and he’s about ten seconds from just scraping it off with his fingernails. 

If Sokka could have hearts in his eyes Zuko thinks he would. What, has this guy never hired help before? What’s the point of being an eccentric with money if you’re not going to flaunt it in front of people?

Sokka opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out but a silent wheeze. Sokka frowns, stands, walks to a window. Sucks in a deep breath. Turns around, as if that wasn’t the most passive aggressive thing Zuko’s seen all year, and says with perfect cheer, “You’re indispensable, Zuko. Best employee I’ve ever had. What’s the normal amount for a raise? 50 cents?”

“Dollars,” Zuko jokes.

“Give yourself a raise of 50 dollars!” Sokka says.

“Ha-ha,” Zuko says, because last week Sokka gave him 30 cents and told him to ‘buy something nice.’ 

“No, no, I’m serious this time, I’m getting the hang of this,” Sokka insists. He heads for a drawer, rifles around. Zuko gives the stain a break and leans back on his heels, watching Sokka. 

He comes out clutching a handful of coins. “Here, buy yourself something nice.”

From Zuko’s limited ability to recognize foreign and ancient currency, he’s just been handed...several Roman coins and some rubles. 

Zuko could totally write a book about this guy. As it stands, he’ll make a note to add this interaction to his blog so that his readers can laugh at Zuko’s misfortune so he doesn’t have to. 

Sokka is still staring at him, smiling with his stupid rich pretty face, open and guileless and somehow _absolutely_ mocking. 

“Thanks,” Zuko says, and tucks the coins in his pocket. 

“You deserve it,” Sokka says, shoulders hunching in a cute, half shrug. “I like having you around. Say, why don’t we take a snack break!” 

Zuko glances down at the stain. It does not glance back, but it does ooze malevolent intent. 

“Fine,” he says, and dumps the sponge in the bucket. He drags himself to his feet. “Do you want some of what I’m having, or are you still on your liquid diet?” 

Sokka rolls his eyes like Zuko’s just teased him and pats Zuko’s back fondly. “Har-har. Still the smoothies for me,” and he pokes at his own belly, “gotta stay in shape somehow.” 

Zuko has no idea what’s in the smoothies. When he gets to the house they’re pre-packaged and already sealed, and he’s never done any dishes for them. He’s pretty sure that Sokka just… throws out the reusable containers when he’s done. That’s a rich person thing to do. Or maybe they get picked up — some kind of meal service? Zuko has no idea how Sokka tolerates it. Doesn’t he miss _chewing?_

 _Thirty dollars,_ he reminds himself. _You’re not paid enough to try and make him eat normal person food._

Even so, when he goes into the kitchen, he pulls out a steak. Sokka tends to only give the rare meat a glance, and keeps plenty of it in his freezer. Zuko’s pretty sure it’s another teasing comment, but he doesn’t really care. If Sokka wants to spend 50 dollars a week buying prime cuts of meat to be rude to Zuko with, he can go ahead.

“I’ll take care of it,” Zuko says, like always. 

“Allow me,” Sokka says, also like always. “I never get to cook for myself anymore. Let me have my fun.” 

Power play after power play. Zuko shrugs, and goes about making tea, because his Uncle owns a tea franchise and it’s one of the only things other than his smoothies that Sokka will eat. 

“Full moon soon,” Sokka says, looking out the window as he cuts the package open. The moon is waxing in the sky. “I forgot to say, you can have that night off. I have a visitor.” 

“Oh?” Zuko says, politely. Then he registers the implication of _visitor_ and blushes. “Oh. Uh---yeah. Thanks.” This way he doesn’t have to request the night off and waste his sick leave, whatever that may look like. Sokka still hasn’t given him any paperwork, and Mai is getting on him about _taxes_ and _checking accounts._

Sokka doesn’t even twist away from the meat to look at him, busy cutting it into thin slices. “What are you blushing for? Something _you_ have to do on the full moon? Some _one_ maybe?”

Zuko has no idea how he does that. Is he looking at him in the reflection of the knife? How does he _always_ know when Zuko blushes? Does he have dozens of tiny cameras hooked up to a phone that vibrates in his pocket, one of the fifty security guards monitoring the premises at all times going _got em, boys_?

Or maybe he just assumes that Zuko falls victim to his charms. It’s true, but it’s still conceited. 

“That’s personal,” is what Zuko manages to say, only stuttering a little. 

Sokka gathers the meat up into a bowl. “Uh huh, sure it is,” he says, still teasing. His tone is a little off as he goes into the cabinet for spices. “A _personal_ friend? Or is the full moon just a real _personal_ time for—”

“Will you stop?” Zuko says, irritated. He’s been working for Sokka for a couple of months now, and he knows that Sokka wants their relationship to be less professional and more friendly. But Zuko doesn’t even take this kind of harassment from his _friends_.

“If you have a thing against Werewolves then just say so and I’ll quit.” _Thirty dollars an hour,_ he reminds himself. 

Sokka dumps an entire bottle of paprika on the meat, gaping at Zuko. 

“Is THAT why you smell like—” he groans, dropping the shaker into the bowl of ruined meat. Puts his face in his hands. “I’ve been so _rude.”_

Zuko blinks numbly at him, at a loss for how to process this turn of events. Is this another joke? Sarcasm so heavy that it sounds genuine? 

“You know my Uncle,” he says, accusingly. “Don’t pretend like you don’t know my entire family is werewolves. You’ve been doing nothing but commenting on it since I started working with you.”

“I thought you had a dog! Not that you _were_ a dog!” Sokka explains defensively. 

“That’s just racist!” Zuko says, and twists the knob of the stove to _off_ so hard it breaks off in his hand. He stares at the piece of plastic in his hand as the tea kettle slowly stops whistling. “Shit.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sokka says, “I’ve got a guy who can fix it. If you still want the job, after I’ve been such an asshole?” He seems to be taking the news well, for apparently not having any clue in the first place. 

“Why did you keep buying me meat?” Zuko asks, turning to face him. Sokka’s leaning against the counter, slowly shoving the bowl of paprika and meat towards the sink. He pauses upon Zuko’s glare.

“Because you… liked it?” he asks, helplessly.

“Well,” Zuko says angrily, “yeah! It’s a nice cut! I don’t typically get to eat stuff that nice.” He crosses his arms over his chest. 

“You don’t?” Sokka asks, and shoves the bowl entirely into the sink. It clatters, and a poof of red-brown dust rises. “Am I not paying you enough? Zuko, I’m not good with money, you have to say if I’m not paying you enough.”

“That’s wasteful,” Zuko says, moving to take the bowl out of Sokka’s hands. “You can just rinse the seasoning off and start over.” 

“You’re impoverished,” Sokka wails dramatically. “I should have noticed! I’m keeping you in abject poverty!”

“Not anymore, since you’re paying me triple the minimum wage,” Zuko says, washing the meat and ignoring the impulse to eat it raw. It’s close to the full moon, and even if Sokka wouldn’t question it, Zuko’s not going to give him the satisfaction. 

“What’s minimum wage?” Sokka asks. 

“10 dollars an hour,” Zuko lies.

“No, I mean, what’s— nevermind,” Sokka says, and huffs out a breath. “You don’t have to eat that, it’s barely fit for human consumption. Let me just— throw it out—”

Sokka tries to elbow his way in front of the sink. Zuko elbows him back. Sokka elbows, harder. Zuko elbows, harder. The meat flops, wetly. 

And then Sokka’s elbow catches his smoothie cup. 

“NO!” Sokka cries as it falls towards the floor. 

Zuko’s nostrils flare, and he looks to Sokka, eyes wide. “Why do you have a housekeeper during the night?”

“Why do you work at night?” Sokka gripes, grabbing a towel and mopping up the blood. 

“I have a sun allergy,” Zuko says.

“Yes, that. Terrible for my complexion, I burn right up,” Sokka agrees. “Ugh. This is a _mess._ ”

“Sokka,” Zuko asks, hysterical, “Are you a Vampire?” 

Sokka stills. Stares upwards at Zuko, towel soaked, blood streaks on his wrist. “Uh? Did you not… know?”

“Vampires aren’t _real_ ,” Zuko says nonsensically. He doesn’t know why he says it. He knows that they’re real. He’s even met one before. But for some reason it’s the only thing that he can think of as a response to _Sokka being a vampire._

“That’s really invalidating,” Sokka says, sternly. “I feel incredibly invalidated right now.”

“Oh my god,” Zuko says, sliding to the ground. He’s pretty sure that he gets blood splatter on his pants. “Give me that, I’m the one who does the cleaning around here.” 

Sokka gives him the rag where he’s reaching for it, bemused, but doesn’t get up. 

“You really are the best employee I’ve ever had,” Sokka muses, leaning back against the cabinets and watching Zuko work. 

“What happened to the others? Did you eat them?” Zuko asks. SOkka laughs. 

“Not more than they asked for!” he winks. “You’ve met Toph, she was my familiar before I decided to move to a _money_ based model.” 

Zuko drops the rag. Is Sokka grooming him to become his familiar? “That wouldn’t even work,” he says out loud, rubbing at his neck. “I’m already immortal.”

“It does so work!” Sokka says. “Sure, there were all those difficulties in the beginning with figuring out what dollars are, and how many of them you needed, but I have it on good authority that money can be exchanged for goods and services. And I’ve been successfully exchanging it for your good services for a while now!”

Zuko stares at Sokka. 

“Plus, you’re immortal,” Sokka adds, looking deeply relieved. “I would hate to have to see you die. That’s where I kept messing up with the other familiars, actually. They all wanted an early retirement.”

***

Things go back to normal after that, as much as they can. Sokka still doesn’t give him any paperwork, and Zuko still makes thirty dollars an hour to run Sokka’s dry cleaning and clean his floors. 

Sokka keeps making him fancy meat dinners and follows him around, desperate for company but unwilling to leave his house. The weird thing is, Zuko doesn’t find it annoying. He finds it charming, along with the rest of Sokka’s bizarre traits, like his meticulously categorized hat and umbrella collection, or how he refers to wi-fi as ‘wifey’ and ‘the wireless’ interchangeably. Charming, and a little bit obnoxious. 

And Zuko can’t stop thinking about Sokka. He’d worried that he’d been charmed at first, but Uncle had checked and declared him unmarred. And then proceeded to mock him mercilessly for the implication. 

But the last two full moons have found Zuko on Sokka’s back porch, scratching at the door and howling at the moon. Sokka never lets him in, and neither of them have spoken about it. The second full moon saw a bowl of fresh water and another of meat on the porch, though, because Sokka’s charming...and a little bit obnoxious.

Maybe it’s because he’s gotten used to the routine, showing up at Sokka’s just after sunset and staying until just before sunrise every night except for weekends. But this last moon fell on a Sunday, and Zuko still found himself naked and desperate on Sokka’s property the next morning. 

Zuko’s found himself naked and desperate a lot, thinking of Sokka. 

There’s a knock on the door he’s leaning on, breathless from his transformation. Zuko startles.

“Uh,” Sokka says through the door. “I have to go to bed. D’you need clothes?”

Last time Zuko’d slept underneath the porch until nightfall and snuck back to his apartment without being seen. He doesn’t think he has the patience for that this time, keyed up and needing to _move._ He must not have gotten any running or hunting in, which means he spent the _whole night begging at Sokka’s door._

“Yes,” Zuko says, humiliated. It takes a few tries, throat raw. Like he’d been howling. 

“I’ll unlock the door,” Sokka says. “Count to thirty, to make sure the sunlight doesn’t— anyways. I’ll just. Take whatever you want! In thirty seconds.”

“Kay,” Zuko rasps. He counts to forty, just to be sure. Then he counts again, because he felt like he counted too fast the first time.

 _Then_ he gets up and goes inside, palm over his nakedness. As the door clicks shut behind him, Sokka rounds the corner, one hand over his eyes, the other outstretched and clutching an afghan.

“Zuko? I didn’t hear you come in, are you—” Sokka peeks through his fingers, then slams them shut again. “YEP YOU ARE.”

“You know I’m blushing,” Zuko accuses, taking the afghan and wrapping it around his shoulders safely. The material itches, his body rebelling against it. This next month is going to be _hell._

“You have very loud blood,” Sokka says, and stuffs his empty hand in his pants pockets. He’s dressed almost normally for once, plaid pajama pants and Hawaiian button up. 

_You have very loud blood_. Which means that Sokka can hear Zuko’s erection. 

Sokka’s been around a while, and clearly has a relationship with werewolves. This is fine. Not embarrassing at all. 

Except that he _knows_ , he knows what it means that Zuko keeps showing up here, and he’s decided to just— pretend it isn’t happening, more or less. 

“Are you okay?” Sokka asks, concern in his voice. He peeks through his fingers again, and this time removes his hand entirely. 

“I quit,” Zuko squeaks. It’s his only option, or he thinks he’s going to die of humiliation. His hands clutch the afghan tighter around his shoulders. 

Sokka’s eyes widen, hurt in his face. He clears his throat. “Oh. Is there— did I—”

“No! No, it’s okay, you don’t-- we can keep pretending,” Zuko waves his hand at himself. 

“Pretending you work for me?” Sokka asks, and perks up immediately. “Is this— this is a, uh, a ploy for a raise? I can give you a raise—” 

“Pretending that you don’t notice my, ah, proclivities,” Zuko corrects. 

“Proclivities?” Sokka asks. “For… union tactics?”

“Don’t do that,” Zuko says, moving past Sokka to try and look for clothes. He shouldn’t be looking around aimlessly, he knows where the clothes are kept, he’s the one who keeps them. But he’s full of nervous energy, negative energy that needs to be dispelled, and his body is screaming _move_ and _attack_ and _run._

Sokka follows him like a lost little puppy, the way he always does when Zuko is in the house.

“Zuko, I really don’t mind that you show up on your off hours,” Sokka says. “I just thought, since you have to clean up the house, it’d be— kind of rude to let you inside to mess it up? You’re an extremely dedicated employee, and fur is _very_ hard to get out of the furniture.”

Right, because Zuko’s a dog and Sokka’s just humoring him. He purses his lips to keep them from trembling, heading up the stairs. 

“I can let you in next time!” Sokka says, floating so that he’s laying in the air above Zuko’s head, literally talking down to him. 

“No, that’s okay,” Zuko says, voice strained. “Don’t worry about me.”

“Were you serious about quitting?” Sokka asks, anxiously. He knocks his head on the banister by accident as the stairs spiral, winces and floats a bit higher to compensate. “Or was that a me-me?”

Zuko can’t handle this. He shoves into the guest room and rips open the top drawer of the dresser with the hand not holding his afghan shut. 

Sokka lands on the ceiling above the dresser, crouched upside down, loose hair from his ponytail hanging down and just barely not brushing Zuko’s face.

“Zuko,” he whines. “Zuko, what’d I _do?_ You smell sad.”

Surreally, Zuko finds himself saying, “It’s not you, it’s me.” Then he pulls out a hawaiian shirt and a pair of gray sweatpants. 

“Yes, it’s you who’s sad,” Sokka agrees. He puts his hands over his eyes, palms covering them politely so that Zuko can change. “Is it boundaries? Toph told me I’m bad at boundaries. Zuko, you have to tell me if I’m trampling your boundaries—” 

“It’s definitely boundaries,” Zuko agrees, rushing into the clothes, _still_ hard in his pants because the sun god hates him and wants him to die right here in self hatred. “Apparently my wolf self doesn’t know them.” 

“We could train you!” Sokka says, and bounces on his heels a little. It drags his ponytail across the tip of Zuko’s nose, and Zuko jerks back a step. 

Zuko stills. Looks at Sokka, full offense on his face. 

Sokka still has both hands over his eyes. 

Zuko grabs his wrists and pulls them away. “I. Am not. A _dog,_ ” he hisses angrily. His hands heat up of their own volition.

“I know?” Sokka says, looking alarmed. “Uh. Zuko. Your dragon wolf stuff. I’m afraid it’s cooking my arm. Just a little bit. No, don’t let go on _my_ account, whatever makes you feel better and also makes you not quit because I really can’t handle being alone here all the time—”

“Then don’t be!” Zuko yells, letting go and rubbing his palms together to put out the sparks. “I’m not a pet you can get because you feel lonely, you know. I’ll work for a living, but I’m not going to get _trained._ ” 

“Oh,” Sokka says, and drops off the ceiling, twisting in mid air so that he’s sitting on top of the dresser. It’s a low dresser, and so he’s about the same height as Zuko, faces far too close. “I didn’t— that’s not how I meant it. Toph trained me about boundaries! That’s how I meant it. Like, I haven’t mentioned your pizzle _once.”_

“My what?”

“Your pizzle? Your horn?” Zuko has no idea what Sokka’s saying, and he keeps going. “Your fuddy chuddy?” Sokka makes a demonstrative wanking motion with his hand. Then he slaps himself in the face. “Oh, bazoongas, I just mentioned it _five times!”_

“Oh,” Zuko says, “My god.” Then he turns on his heel and storms down the stairs, needing to get out, sunburn be damned. 

“I could just pay you to be my friend?” Sokka asks, flying after him. “I’m sorry I brought up your weiner, I know that’s not a good friend thing. I can clean my own house! Or I could just give you a raise, for extra friend duties?” 

Zuko doesn’t elaborate just how much Sokka’s proven that he _can’t_ clean his own house, instead focusing on the ‘extra friend duties.’ 

“Sokka,” Zuko says desperately, hands on a decorative table to steady himself as another rush of _want do move_ hits him. “We both know why I’ve been coming here on full moons. Can you please let me leave with my dignity intact?” 

Sokka stops flying so abruptly that he just. Lands on the floor in a laying position, staring up at Zuko. “You’re my employee,” he says. “It would be extremely inappropriate of me to try and— anything— first. Especially when your judgement is…furry...”

‘First’, Zuko mouths incredulously. Then he glares down at Sokka. 

“What do _you_ want?” Sokka asks, and drags a hand over his face. 

Zuko pointedly looks at the tent on his pants.

“The other head!” Sokka demands.

“You’re so old school,” Zuko says, “you haven’t progressed with society at _all._ I'm surprised you’re even willing to hire me to work for you.” 

Sokka stands up. “I have progressed _so much_ ,” he says, and digs something out of his pocket. It takes Zuko a moment to parse it, a massive brick of a phone. “See! My mobile cellular device!” 

Sokka wiggles it demonstratively. It clacks.

“Does that have an abacus on the back?” Zuko asks, incredulously.

“Yes! It’s what’s called an _app_ ,” Sokka says, and flips it around so Zuko can see. “Quite cutting edge, really—”

“Well, that killed my boner,” Zuko lies, and turns to leave. Sokka catches his wrist, hand chilled against Zuko’s unnaturally warm skin. 

“Wait!” Sokka says. “Zuko. I don’t know exactly what you’re thinking, or why you do the things you do. I’m really not certain why you keep showing up to work for me, when I keep pissing you off. But if there’s any uh… anything…”

Sokka’s thumb brushes against the inside of Zuko’s wrist, suggestively.

“I could do to make your work environment more _welcoming,_ ” Sokka murmurs, taking a step forward.

“Are you. Trying, trying to seduce me into being? Your friend?” Zuko asks breathlessly. 

“Is it working?” Sokka arches his neck, stares down at Zuko through sultry lidded eyes. “I’m _so_ good at board games,” he moans.

“Oh,” Zuko says, “What the fuck,” and then he grabs Sokka by the shirt collar and pulls him forward. 

“Let’s talk about your benefits package,” Sokka says, tongue darting out to lick his lip. He catches Zuko’s, glancingly. “There’s even _more_ when you’re my friend.”

“You’re the fucking worst,” Zuko decides, sliding their mouths together because it’s what he wants, anyways, and it’s not like it’ll be his first or last one night stand. 

Sokka floats them to the bedroom.

***

Zuko wakes to a bright blue glow. He groans, reaching out to slap at where his phone’s screen must have turned on.

“Hey!” Sokka says, and slaps his hand away. “Ugh. You just texted the groupchat, Zuko, I hope you’re happy.”

“What,” Zuko grunts, recognizing those words separately but not in that order. 

“Aww,” Sokka coos. “You’re so cute when you’re sleepy. Total bae. Can I snapchat you?” 

“Azula was right,” Zuko says. “Sleeping with a vampire does damn you to an eternal hell.” Then he sits up, because Sokka’s been _fucking_ with him if the smart phone in his hand is anything to go by. He groans and readjusts, remembering that Sokka also _fucked_ him. 

“I don’t know what you could possibly mean,” Sokka says, fingers flying over the keys. He’s on Twitter. He’s on _twitter._ He’s—

“Are you _dril?!”_ Zuko asks, snatching the phone out of his hands.

“Zuko,” Sokka says, pouting. “No one ever helped me fix my candle budget. Do you have any suggestions?”

Zuko grabs Sokka by the neck, ignoring Sokka’s immediate giggles, and drags him back under the covers with a growl. 

“I don’t see how this is going to help my finances,” Sokka’s saying, right up until Zuko bites him. 

“Don’t worry,” Zuko says. “I’ll give you a tip.”

“I want more than just the _tip_ ,” Sokka complains, before his mouth is occupied. 

“We still need to--ah-- talk about _benefits_ ,” Zuko adds. 

“Time and a half?” Sokka asks, muffled.

“If you give me money after I get out of this bed I’ll make you eat it,” Zuko threatens.

“Then don’t get out of the bed,” Sokka suggests, propping his chin on Zuko’s belly and showing his teeth. 

_“Hey, idiots, you buttdialed me!”_ a tinny Toph voice yells from the phone. 

“Sounds like a you problem,” Sokka says loud enough for the speaker to catch. Zuko’s shoving at his head, trying to get him to return to what he was working on before. 

_“I told you you couldn’t do employees!”_ Toph yells. _“You owe me three thousand dollars!”_

The dial tone plays as she hangs up. 

“Gonna make you howl,” Sokka says smugly, and Zuko makes an enraged noise that’s quickly drowned out by a moan. 

“So much for your allergies,” Zuko gasps. After that, neither of them do much talking. And only the smallest possible amount of sneezing.


End file.
